


Cooking the Stars

by Tribs



Series: Junkyard Pogs [2]
Category: Numenera (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Body-Invasive Substances, Extensive Chosen Family, Gen, Giant Crabs Equivalent To Cattle, Growing Up, Home Interior Destruction, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 15:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribs/pseuds/Tribs
Summary: A small fishing village stands along the Tithe river, deep in the Garrathol delta. Many of its inhabitants, under the looming presence of the Obelisk of the Water God, have cultivated generations of mutations - scales, gills, fins.Among them, Joan. With big goals, whether at six or sixty, and strong familial ties to the Convergence.9/20/2019 - Contextual overhaul. Changed fandoms from D&D 5E to Numenera.





	1. Naumys

We got home to Vizeek nursing an ice pack against his head, sitting on the porch stairs like he’d been beaten and chased out. His uncovered eye shot me an apologetic look as he moved to stand, though he seemed just as humored by his situation. 

“Too much for you?”

“Aye, dunno how sie hasn’t wrecked your place from the teat.”  He pulled up his free arm, showing off a nasty bite mark left on the underside of his forearm. 

Volun winced in sympathy as he looked it over.  “Go’n bandage that up, we’ll wrangle hir down.”

“You sure?”

I patted my own arms, criss-crossed with several similar but fading marks.  “We’ve got it, you’re released from duty.”

He snorted, patting my shoulder as he passed between us.  “If you’re sure, Naum. We’ll see you three at dinner?”

“If we make it alive.”

“Hah! We’ll say a fond word to the water god for you if you’re late.”

He waved, and we waved back, before looking back at each other. With heavy sighs, we nodded and turned to the door to accept our fate. 

The wreckage was  _ immediately  _ apparent when we entered.

Part of the wicker floor mat had been painstakingly unraveled, the strands torn apart and scattered across the floor like confetti. Shells from the dresser basket lay among them, most shattered like they’d been hopped on. Sand had been tracked in - thrown in - with much ado, and what looked like whale fat had been smeared in heaping globs on the wall above the shrine. 

“At least sie’s taking an interest.”

“Mhm.”

We moved on, and were promptly stopped by an overturned chair. Volun hoisted it up and carried it along as we picked our way through scattered book forts and draped blankets, until we reached the epicenter: the den.

Sie’d found the paints. And the harpoon. The couch had been upended and treated to both, alongside another helping of sand. 

Joan was perched on the hanging light in the center of the room, feet bare and planted against the shade. The ceiling hook groaned under the strain, which sie ignored as sie swung by throwing hir weight around. 

I sighed, trying to figure how long this would take to clean. I knew Volun was doing the same.

“Honey.”

“Pearl of my life.”

“We’re never having any more.”

“Oh, oh absolutely not, no.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Yeah.”


	2. Volun

“Joan.”

Sie froze, stopped halfway through the kitchen. I looked over to Naumys, who averted her gaze with a little smile and continued to shuck clams. I put down my own knife, sighed at her, and sent a quick word out to the water god.

“What’s under the tarp, Joan?”

“Nothing.”

The nothing under the tarp clicked its feet on the wood floor.

“You know that he doesn’t belong inside now, Joan. He’s too big.”

“Henri gets cold!”

“Joan.”

“The other crabs are mean to him!”

“My little minnow-”

“He  _ cries  _ if I leave him.”

I looked back to Naum for help. She had her forehead on the counter, shoulders shaking.

“What if we let him keep a blanket outside?”

“No!”

“One of your toys? How about a drawing of the two of you together?”

“He belongs inside!”

“He can barely fit through the door, love.”

“Then make a bigger one!”

“... But, see-”

“Get uncle Vizeek, and get the hammer, and make it bigger!”

I settled against the counter and pinched the bridge of my nose, which sie apparently took as submission. Sie snatched up an unpeeled potato, bit into it like an apple, then started to march off to the den.

“He needs to sleep on the couch! He’s got artrightish.”

“Art…  _ Arthritis?” _

Naum finally broke, choking back laughter.

I could only stare after Joan, mystified.  “Where did she even learn what that  _ is?” _


	3. Vizeek

“You want to keep an eye on where you are, Joan. See, if I move this way-”  I took a few steps to the side, and hir gaze followed, squinting against the sunlight as I positioned it to my back.  “That makes things more difficult for you, yeah?”

Sie trotted forward until she was squarely in my shadow and gave me a smug look.

“... Yes, I suppose that works.”

Volun and Naum snickered from their spots on the porch. I glanced back at them, and they waved unhelpfully.

“But you can’t always rely on being shorter than your opponent.”

“Why?”

“What if you need to fight a tabanid?”

“Why would I?”

_ Gods, help me. _

“Say he’s run up and taken a bite of your sandwich while you’re in the middle of it.”

“Is he cute?”

“No.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, get your stick up. Bend your elbows a bit more, and spread your hands out some, you’re not working with a butcher’s knife handle here. And get in your stance.”

“Like Henri.”

One of his claws shifted, his attention drawn from where he’d buried himself in sand across the yard.

“Yes, the Henri stance.”

Sie grinned, planting hir feet and mimicking how I readied myself.

“Now, remember what I’ve said about stepping back?”

“Big step back, look out for lunges, block, be ready to move again if you need to?”

“And don’t let yourself get backed into a corner.”

“There’s no corners outside.”

I gestured towards the river’s edge.  “You could be shoved in there. Or against the house. Somewhere where you can’t bite back as easily, or where you lose control of the fight’s direction.”

Sie responded by smacking me in the legs with the stick.

“That’s-”

_ Smacksmacksmack. _

“That’s fair.”

“You have to get on your knees now, I cut them off.”

I looked over to hir  _ increasingly _ unhelpful parents, and begrudgingly got to my knees.

Sie snatched the Convergence token from my shirt pocket and bit it.


	4. Joan

I drew the sword they had given me from the carcass of the second fighter, planting a foot against her back and heaving against the stew of organs that pulled against me. 

My arms went to my side as I looked up to the arena’s stands. The man in the skull helmet cocked his head in thought, then gestured for me to step closer. I did, readjusting my grip.

“Your uncle,”  echoed the voice behind the mask.  “Your sponsor, correct?”

The cadence clawed at my ears; not even the higher-ups here knew proper Navarene. I’d been warned about that, and had heard as much during my talks with the people before him - inquisitions about how well I knew the ways of numenera, my experience using cyphers, the ilk.

“That he is.”

“... I see.”

“You have a problem with him?”

“No, no,”  the voice laughed.  “Of course not. Just an observation. Here.”

He flicked a small object into the arena with his thumb, where it hit the floor with a puff of dust. I bent down to scrape it up.

I turned the gold coin around in my fingers, squinting at the engraving of an entwined eye to make sure it matched Vizeek’s.

“Congratulations, magistrix.”

The sound of the gate behind me raising again reached my ears, barely covering the hiss of wretched machinery.

“Now, let’s see if you can keep it.”

I grinned, bit down on the coin, and turned.


	5. Joan

“So, the little minnow’s become a proper force to reckon with!”

I snorted under dad’s arms, countering his bear hug with my own crushing embrace. His hand ruffled at my hair, soon joined by Vizeek’s, mom’s, and several clamoring cousins’. 

“Where’s the coin!”

“I want it!”

“You saw it last!”

“I want to see the sword!”

“Can I wear- Aunt Joan! Aunt Joan I want your cape!”

“It’s a _cloak!”_

“No it’s _not!”_

“It’s a cloak,”  I tried to confirm beneath the pile, only to be gleefully drowned out.

“Cloak! See!”

“It’s the same thing!”

_“No!?”_

I tried to wiggle free, and dad got a hint to what I was aiming to do. He used his arms to barricade off the horde as I undid the clasp on my cloak. I flung it up, past grabbing hands and excited screams, and the wind did the rest by sweeping it down the riverbank.

Children swarmed after it, tripping and dragging each other down as they howled like an angry pack. Henri uprooted himself from the sand, shook off the excess, then started to scuttle after them.

The sight didn’t exactly make them stop yelling.

The four of us watched them go.

“It’s going to get destroyed,”  mom pointed out.

“Nah, it’s been chewed by worse.”

“... When did you last wash it?”

“Nah.”

_“Joan.”_

“They eat worse.”

Something tapped at the side of my head and my hand snapped up to grab it. Vizeek let go of his end of the stick, leaving me with it while he winked and grabbed his own from the sand. 

“C’mon then, _Magistrix_ Volunsath. While there’s breathing room.”

I looked back at the chase-and-tumble making its way down the shore, then back. 

I grinned and settled into a stance.

“Hope you’re ready for an ass whooping, _Magister_ Vlosnynzath.”


	6. Joan

The trek through the prior-world ruins had been an arduous one. Swaths of the floor had given out to pitch below, and long-spun webs decked the cavernous corners, evidence of a beast living among these subterranean auditorium pods and halls of low-iridescent vats. 

I had an inkling of what it was, but we’d found nothing of the ilk.

The hired glaives had been gone for too long. I prodded a stray ember back to the fire, ignoring the gnawing hunger in my stomach. 

_ Bet you’re all distracted, if you haven’t been eaten. Lining your pockets with shins. Cobbling parts off the walls. Told all you to do that once I had what we’re here for.  _

_ You’re no help if you’re too dead to be bait. _

I plucked the old leather bag from my pocket and teased the knot loose, swabbed a finger through, and flicked a glob of marteling whale fat toward the fire.

_ Enjoy that. Might be all I can give up tonight. _

No response. Not that I expected much from the water god, but there was a sentiment to it.

No response, that is, from them. From elsewhere in the hall was another matter.

The air felt thick; too heavy to breathe easily. Something had shifted, far out of sight, and I heard the telltale clicks of insectoid feet. I pushed myself up, clutching the fire poker tight.

_ Folklore tells that the weavers spun down from the stars, devils if there ever were. _

Eight eyes, luminous and blue, oozed from the shadows.

_ They cannot handle sunlight, so restrain themselves to caves off the beaten road, or to the ruins of the past worlds. _

The underside - or top - of its head leered, a mimicry of a wispy old man’s head, framed with too many spindled legs that stretched to impossible angles.

_ They exist partially out of phase. That’s been learned the hard way. _

I stabbed out, gouging the rippling trail of star-specked darkness that clung in its wake as it twisted by, and nearly lost my balance for it. The light of the fire kept it at bay, but couldn’t stop it from boxing me in.

I lunged again, snatched my sword from the ground with my free hand, and followed through with it. The creature hissed, twisted, sinking sharp teeth into my leg.

_ Venomous. Not to kill, just to paralyze. _

_ They only eat prey alive.  _

I wrenched free, tearing skin and muscle in the process, but wasn’t fast enough; I stumbled as neurotoxin crawled through the limb, locking it fast, and fell back a pace too far. 

The weaver snapped around, spinning coils of night sky around where I landed. I‘d only have one shot at it.

I snapped the cypher on my belt free of its holster, bit the knob, and pulled. 


	7. Castola

An explosion shook the structure, a cacophony of grating metal and the a terrible scream. We froze, listening to the heart-stopping sounds of a pod above giving way, crushing into another that could have only been a few halls away.

“... The old fucker had one of those gravity things, didn’t-”

_ “Move.” _

We did, boots pounding on the sleek metal, through revolving doors and down a hallway that the crash had drug to an incline. Swearing, hissing, clicking, the sound of the floor giving away anew, a torrent of water or some other liquid. 

We finally broached the last door; it wasn’t pretty.

The holes above showed a warpath of gravitational carnage, with metal cables and ancient insulation exposed like the guts of a metal giant; the floor below was shattered and warped, overflowing with iridescent yet dark gunk that poured from broken vats and seeped up from the floor.

And there stood the Magistrix, off in the middle of it, coughing and crowing triumphantly as sie used a fire poker to gouge out the eyes of some hideous, spider-like monster.

Or, maybe this wasn’t the boss, now.

Whatever was in the liquid slowly pumped through hir bulging, visible veins, mottling hir dark scale-skin to a sharper hue - one like the night sky, streaked with sickly greens and awful bulges like subdermal insects. The fins that crested hir ears, hir gills, and hir lips all looked like they were smoldering, flaking away from stilled decay.

Sie turned to us, wild-eyed with sharp teeth flashing wickedly; we ran. 


End file.
